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his boots. He glanced at the small silver chron on his left wrist and saw that
it was just past ten o'clock. Through the window he could see that the main
street of the ville was quiet and deserted.
Not quite deserted.
A tall figure was striding along on the far side of the road, in a general
direction of the Motes' temple. The ghostly illumination of the streetlights
danced off the long blond hair. In his imagination Doc could almost hear the
tinkling sound of Lori's spurs.
Doc was about to leave the room when an afterthought struck him. He went back
and buckled on the heavy Le Mat pistol and picked up his swordstick. He made
his way quietly down the stairs, through the sleeping building and out onto
the porch that ran the length of the frontage. An elderly swing-seat creaked
as the night wind moved it gently to and fro. Doc stood a moment, wrinkling
his nostrils at the pungent odor of gasoline that permeated the ville.
Lori had vanished and the old man set off after her, keeping to the shadows.
Doc found it difficult to maintain a grip on his memory and his sanity.
Walking through the slumbering ville brought back a tumbling flood of images
from his long-gone past. Most of the buildings on that end of Main Street
dated from the late 1890s, the period during which he had last seen his wife
and his two young children. Before the white-coated, faceless men and women of
Project Cerberus had trawled him into the future.
With a great effort of will he succeeded in suppressing the memories,
concentrating instead on trying to work out where Lori would have gone. Since
she knew nobody in Snakefish, it seemed logical that she had walked out into
the night.
But why?
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Doc very nearly went on by the temple, heading into the wilderness of desert
beyond. But a flicker of pale light caught his eye, somewhere around the back
of the buildinga narrow vertical strip of gold, as though a door had been left
open.
Looking around him cautiously, praying that his knee joints wouldn't creak,
Doc made his way around the path at the side. Very slowly and carefully he
eased his way inside, catching the odd smell of stale sweat and makeup, which
dredged up memories of the vaudeville theaters of New York, back when Once
again a black curtain descended, cutting off the trickling memories.
He could hear voices talking quietly and a sudden giggle.
"Lori," he said.
On an impulse he drew the Le Mat from its ornate Mexican holster, thumbing
back the hammer on the antique piece as he walked past a table and some
shelves. The voices came louder. Another muffled, sniggering laugh made him
grip the butt of the pistol more tightly.
Doc could see them now, together near the front row of pews. There was a
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sailing moon outside, and it cast enough light in through the windows of the
reptilian temple for the old man to be able to see them quite clearly.
"I am most dreadfully sorry to interrupt," he called, marveling inwardly at
how calm he'd kept his voice.
"But I don't think Lori should be out this late on her own."
"What the skin-shedding fuck is that?" The male voice was high and reedy. His
blond curls glinted in the moonlight. Doc could see a black Stetson near the
altar.
"It's Doc Tanner. And you are Joshua Mote. Do your parents know that you
profane the tabernacle with your lusts?"
Lori broke away, nervously smoothing down the front of her coveralls. "Hi,
Doc," she greeted. "Josh said to come see this place at night and I thought it
be no harms."
"I should kill you! You interfering old fuck-pig!" Joshua Mote shouted, facing
Doc across the aisle.
"If you attempt to draw out whatever blaster you have concealed about your
person, I shall pull this trigger and blow a hole in you big enough to drive a
horse and buggy through."
Mote let his hands drop to his side. "Sure. This time you get your way, Doc.
But there's things happening in this ville soon and you'll be on the wrong
scaling side of 'em."
"Very possibly. Come on, Lori, my dear. Time to go home."
The girl didn't argue at all. She took Doc's arm and walked quietly with him
back to their hotel. Neither said a word.
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JUST AFTER SUNUP everyone was awakened by the throbbing roar of the powerful
engines of the two-
wheel wags. All eight of the Last Heroes rode past in formation, heading down
Main Street toward the
Motes' temple. Zombie, at the head, shouted something to Ruby Rainer, who was
busily sweeping dust off the front porch, but Ryan couldn't hear what was
said.
"Going down to find out," he said tersely to Krysty, pulling on his pants and
knotting the laces of his combat boots.
The landlady was in the lobby, adjusting a scarf around her throat. She turned
as she heard Ryan's feet on the stairs.
"Oh, Mr. Cawdor!" she exclaimed. "Such dreadful, dreadful news!"
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